


Watch The Sky

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Killjoys, Dystopia, Injury, Multi, Self-Medication, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the morning Zayn’s fine and Liam’s palms are itchy with power once more, and he almost wishes it weren’t this simple. He wonders if it will ever end, if they’ll ever use themselves up completely, if there’ll be a day they won’t be reset like characters in a video game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is a [Killjoys](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danger_Days:_The_True_Lives_of_the_Fabulous_Killjoys) AU of sorts written over a few months by S with a tiny bit of input by P. We haven't touched it in too long to really work on it again with the care and immersion it deserves, but we think it stands alone alright. Title from its namesake song by Something Corporate.

Liam spreads his palm wide in the small of Zayn’s back and presses him down into the mattress like it’s nothing, like this is sex instead of- this, this _thing_ \- and Zayn closes his eyes and breathes out and in until all he smells is the cotton of the sheets and waits for his ribs to knit back together. 

Niall is quiet (Niall is never quiet) and Harry passes out beers and the pill bottles they’ve been rationing so carefully. “Thought we were quitting,” Liam says, too tired to be severe, and Louis sticks his tongue out at him and pops a capsule onto it, swallows around lukewarm Budweiser. Niall is quiet (doesn’t complain about the beer).

“Any better idea?” Harry asks Liam, joking but it’s too sharp, and Liam takes the pills, one for him and one for Zayn, when he’s able to swallow without choking on the pain. 

Louis has the house surrounded, has bells and whistles and alarms at the ready and they won’t sleep easy, but they can at least sleep. Liam takes first watch because he’s watching Zayn, anyway, and no one has the heart to point out that he’s so busy doing that that he won’t notice anything else (no one has the energy to stay up, either, so it’s ‘fuck it’ and Liam taking first watch). 

Zayn snaps back to consciousness after half an hour, choking and rolling over onto his back, eyes wide and then tightly shut, trickle of blood too brilliant at the corner of his mouth. Liam reaches for him but Zayn’s quicker, wiping it away on the back of his hand, curling up on his side and then sitting up, hunched. “Gimme,” he says, reaches for Liam with an outstretched palm, and Liam gives him the pill, a bottle of water. Zayn makes a face, but Liam stands firm, no beer, and Zayn drinks maybe a fourth of the bottle before he’s gagging. 

Liam wants to make this better too, but his fingers are shaking and tingling, burnt-out, and all he can do is curl up beside Zayn and hold him with useless hands, whisper apologies into the side of his neck until he falls asleep.

In the morning Zayn’s fine and Liam’s palms are itchy with power once more, and he almost wishes it weren’t this simple. He wonders if it will ever end, if they’ll ever use themselves up completely, if there’ll be a day they won’t be reset like characters in a video game. ( _Can they die?_ Liam doesn’t want to find that out.)

;

They travel a hundred miles and then a thousand more with Niall’s fingers at Harry and Liam’s wrists, Harry’s arm around Louis’ shoulders and Zayn clutching at Liam’s wrist. When they stop, it’s in New Brunswick, and they find a hotel that looks the right kind of abandoned- left long enough to be safe, not so long as to attract the wrong kind of attention. There are two beds, this time, and when Lou’s done with the warding, Harry heats water in the tub for each of them to take a bath. Zayn gets the telly working, but it’s only USAircom infomercials and alerts, and Harry begs him to turn it off again. 

Liam walks in on Louis getting out of the bath and stares at the long gash down his leg, the sore-looking scab that’s too-red for comfort. Louis glares back at him, defiant. “Don’t even think about it. Zayn’s gonna need your magic fingers tonight, after Nialler went and drug us all over the time-space continuum.” 

“I could do both-” Liam says, and Louis laughs, harsh, shocking himself, peters off and pats Liam on the shoulder on his way out the door. “Let’s not tempt fate, superboy.”

When they exit the bathroom, Zayn is propped up on pillows against the headboard, Niall curled up between his knees on the mattress. Harry says, “Got a little desperate, nothing was on the telly,” from the other bed, and Liam and Louis both start and then laugh, nervously. Zayn’s eyes are closed and it’s obvious that he’s in pain, again, but Louis holds Liam’s elbow when he moves forward- “Let ‘em finish, Li, they’ll be alright. Two minutes won’t hurt ‘im.” 

“Oh fuck off, Lou,” Zayn groans, and Niall’s head bobs amusedly between his legs, like he’s laughing around Zayn’s cock (he is). “‘m not the one who finishes first every time Harry gets a finger in my arse.” 

“You are when Liam gets his cock in your arse, though,” Louis snaps back, not a hint of bitterness or mockery. He settles on the bed next to Harry, drags Liam down with him. 

They don’t talk, after that. 

They all sleep better that night. No pills, and no need for Liam to use his hands in any way other than purely physical. 

;

Zayn’s ribs don’t heal. It worries Louis although he never says, and scares Niall. Harry pretends not to notice, and Liam shuts his eyes and punches the wall and caresses the tender skin that blooms purple-yellow-blue of Zayn’s stomach, the baby-soft dips of his sides. 

They all know it’s the tessering- or at least, the tessering doesn’t help- but they can’t stay in one place. Zayn is good, too, at swallowing the blood in his mouth and staying upright every time they land, smiling too brave and only collapsing later, when they can’t blame it on the trip. Zayn is good at the hiding. He plays his fingers over the radios in the hotel rooms, makes them sing more than white noise and sets the lightbulbs flickering like a disco, twirls AA batteries in circles inches above his outstretched palm, makes them forget that sometimes he can’t move, can’t sit up or walk or stretch without gasping for breath. 

“But what’s wrong with him?” Liam asks, and Louis scrubs fingers through the hair on either side of Liam’s face, pulls him in and presses their foreheads together and sighs. His lips are chapped and he licks them, tongue brushing Liam’s. “Louis,” Liam says, and Louis kisses him, tiredly. “I don’t know, Li.” 

Liam feels like they don’t know anything anymore.

;

When Zayn doesn’t respond- when Zayn’s eyes are wide and terrified and glossy, mouth dropped open and chest not moving, Liam shakes him and Louis screams and Harry cries, and Niall says, “I didn’t think-” and tells them, haltingly, about giving Zayn his pill that morning. Louis doesn’t calm down, and it’s Harry, in the end, who holds Zayn’s head in his lap and sings to him, plays with his sweaty hair while Liam paces and Niall stares at the wall. “It won’t kill him,” Harry says, fiercely, “it can’t, they’re supposed to- it won’t kill him.” 

But they don’t know that.

Again, Liam thinks, what the fuck do they know, now, anyhow.

Zayn doesn’t talk for days, but he’s not in pain, that much they can tell. He’s not entirely conscious, either, and that’s the only comfort they have, since Liam’s hands aren’t working. 

“The pills override the powers, that’s all, that’s what Cher said,” Harry repeats, too many times.

“What does it matter,” Louis sneers. “Cher’s dead. Fat lotta good her big head did _‘er_.”

“Cher’s not _dead_ ,” Harry says, and Liam hugs him tightly, because Louis doesn’t.

Louis takes pain too personally, can’t be mad at Niall and so is angry at all of them, at all of _this_.

The third day, Zayn throws it all up, and they all breathe a little easier. He sleeps, too, so soundly they worry. But he wakes up. “That was a trip,” he says, groggy and hoarse, and they all laugh, sad and scared and small. 

Niall won’t let him go, hugs Zayn’s still-limp body until Liam says, “You might crush him,” and he gasps and backs away, and Zayn says, “Nah, ‘m better, I think,” and reaches for Niall. Everything’s better, then. 

Louis fucks Harry on the bed beside them, long and desperately, draped over Harry’s back as Harry presses his face into the sheets and moans, and Liam watches them all from the other bed, too relieved to be turned on. When they finish- the long line of Harry’s throat glistening as he arches back, mouth open, the storm of Louis’ eyes as he bites at Harry’s shoulder, slips a hand beneath them and jacks Harry off roughly- when they finish, Harry says, “Liam,” and Liam slowly moves to join them, bringing a towel to cover the wet spot. They move around to have Zayn in the middle, and Liam ends up beside Niall, on the edge, reaching over his skinny pale side to plant a palm at Zayn’s sternum. They sleep without the pills, and the radio plays soft nonsense music all night.

;

“What are we supposed to be doing?” Harry asks, and Louis laughs, kisses his cheek and tugs at the collar of his shirt, stretching it out from his collarbone, leaning in to breathe over the taut skin. 

“Not dying, I guess, which, we’re good so far?” 

“We’re not exactly superheroes,” Zayn says, and the air conditioner rumbles to life with a flick of his fingers. “Anyhow, have you seen anyone around for us to save, lately?” 

“We could go looking-” Liam doesn’t-suggest, because this always ends the same.

“Call me a selfish bastard,” Louis says, “but we’re alive, and that’s what matters. Let’s not mess up a good thing, lads.” 

Niall cuddles up to Liam’s side and props his head under Liam’s chin, and he’s warm and breathing, a solid weight over Liam’s lungs and heart, and Liam might be a selfish bastard too, because he’s not willing to endanger that.

So they’re not heroes, exactly. 

;

It isn’t true, of course. They are heroes. They can count on both hands the times one of them has saved the others. 

(When they were backed up against an alley wall, way back in the beginning, and the spotlights had just found Liam’s face, pale and washed-out in the dark and terror. Niall had ignored the “Don’t move, we’ll shoot,” to leap just close enough to touch Zayn’s elbow, connect the five of them and _jump_ for the first time.

(When Zayn - and sometimes Liam thinks it’s _usually_ Zayn, who has to be the hero - when Zayn blew an entire power plant up, to cover their tracks, and had nosebleeds for a week straight that Liam couldn’t stop. When Liam’s hands shook too hard to push the power out, and Zayn had to push him aside, kneel in the dirt beside Louis’ prone body and press the heels of his palms into Louis’ chest, a human defibrillator. When Harry couldn’t speak from crying, kicked sand into the wind until Louis came back to them, choking, punching at Zayn’s shoulders.)

So they’re heroes, anyway, heroes enough for each other. And that’s all that matters, isn’t it.

**Author's Note:**

> Zayn has electrokinesis/quintekinesis, Liam has healing abilities, Niall can tesser/bring anyone with him that he’s touching, Louis has force-fielding capabilities, and Harry has thermokinesis (specifically heat).


End file.
